


Keep Myself Awake

by edibleflowers



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Comfort, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 17:22:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Getting some rest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Myself Awake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lemniskate67](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemniskate67/gifts).



> I seem to be developing a thing for setting fics just after battles. Go figure. This is a belated birthday fic for my beloved lemniskate67.

Clint can probably count on one hand the number of times he's been able to catch Natasha off guard. The ever-alert, ever-aware Black Widow rarely lets her watchfulness slip; but even she can be brought low by exhaustion and stress, and this is one of those rare times.

None of them are fans of the debriefing sessions after missions. Clint's used to them, having been through the process regularly since he began working for SHIELD, and while Natasha's normally right there with him (usually making sly, quiet comments to try and make him break out laughing), today's fight was long and draining. Even Stark is drooping in his armor, and Rogers, who generally looks freshly awake in almost any situation, has his head propped on his hand. Natasha's not even trying to fake it; her head is slumped over on her shoulder, her eyes closed. When Coulson looks over at them to get her opinion on something, Clint shakes his head warningly.

"Fine," Coulson says, "we're done. Get some sleep." That earns him a snort from Stark; Rogers gets an arm under Stark to help him up, and Clint turns to Natasha to gently shake her shoulder as the others file out of the room, Thor making no effort to conceal his yawn, Banner looking like he's about to keel over.

"Nat," Clint murmurs. Natasha doesn't move. _Fine_ , he thinks, and moves his chair back and out of the way, kneeling to carefully gather her into his arms. He's pretty much dead on his feet, too, but there's no way he's missing out on this chance, especially when she's asleep and can't resist it.

It's not like he tries to be chivalrous, or even like that's what he wants. The truth is, he so rarely gets to see her vulnerable that he likes to savor those moments. And she curls in against him, mumbling something under her breath, her head heavy on his shoulder: there's a sweetness to her, so seldom glimpsed, so carefully hidden. If anything, he feels privileged, honored, to see her like this. 

There are cars waiting to take them back to Stark Tower, and Clint carefully, so gently, settles her in the back seat of one before climbing in after her. She doesn't wake, just sinks heavily against him once more. As the car moves out, Clint presses a kiss to Natasha's soft hair, smelling the smoke and sweat and fatigue. Later, once they've slept and had something to eat, he'll offer to wash her hair for her. He's looking forward to that, but even more, right now, he's content to think about a few hours of dreamless slumber in a soft bed, an arm curled around her and her body warm against his.


End file.
